The following day, at breakfast, Miss Lydia had the pleasure of hearing her Mamma read this account of her very pretty behaviour, and saying, that she had been quite good all day; which of course made her extremely happy. For several days Lydia went on in the same charming manner: never was idle at her tasks, impatient at her meals, nor peevish at her play; and her Mamma began to hope, that she had quite corrected all her faults. Sorry, however, am I to say, that she did not persevere in being so regularly good. After a short time she began to grow a little tired of taking pains with herself. The first time she forgot herself was when she was reading her French lesson. Having finished La Bagatelle, her Mamma gave her Chambaud’s French Fables, showed her the Dictionary at the end, and instructed her how to find out any word she wanted. This was rather difficult at first, but in a few days would have grown easy to her; however she wanted resolution to take a little pains, and began fretting and grumbling sadly. Her Mamma said, Recollect yourself, Lydia; this will not make a pretty story: and, taking the book, would very kindly have assisted her to look for the word Pierre; which was what she happened to want; but Lydia turned her head on one side, and made up a sad dismal face. Her Mamma then laid the book on the table, and took no further notice, but went out of the room. She staid some little time, and when she came in again found little Lydia sitting very sorrowfully in the corner of the room. She was ashamed to look at her Mamma or to speak a word; the thoughts of having disgraced herself, after having set out with so much credit, and been so good for almost a week, grieved her very much; and she would have given any thing in the world to have had the last half hour to spend over again.

After a silence of near a quarter of an hour, her Mamma said to her, What are you thinking of Lydia?

Lydia.

I am thinking, Mamma, how foolish I shall look, and how ashamed I shall be to-morrow morning, when you read this naughty story of me.

Mamma.

Really, my dear, I shall not feel less ashamed nor concerned than you; and I was in great hope, after you had experienced the comfort of being good, that you would not have again relapsed into your old faults.

Lydia.

I am sure, Mamma, this morning I did not think I should ever have been naughty again. What must I do?

Mamma.

I hope the feeling so foolish and ashamed as you say you shall do, on hearing this account read, will prevent your behaving so again. Endeavour now to make amends for your fault, by taking great pains with your lesson. There is the book, now find Pierre.

Lydia did as she was bidden; and got her lesson very well, and behaved pretty well the rest of the day, though not quite so pleasingly as she had done some days before: for the thought of her misbehaviour had hurt her spirits, and inclined her to be a little fretful and whining.